But instead of extinguishing, the fire burns right through his efforts, growing higher.
My heart hammers against my ribs. “Why isn’t it working? Why can’t you put it out?”
“It’s spirit fire,” Wylder calls over his shoulder, backing away from the increasingly intense heat. “Stay calm. You started it. You can stop it. Spirit fire listens to the one who casts it.”
Fan-fucking-tastic.My panic spikes, and with it, the flames surge higher, engulfing the lower branches.
“I don’t know how!” I yell, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know panicking will only make things worse. I drop to my knees, pressing my palms against the cool earth. I close my eyes, trying to find that quiet center I find when using the calming sigils Wylder taught me.
I focus on the sigils, tracing them quickly with my finger on the grass. As the magic takes hold, a golden line ignites, outlining every curve and line of my intention.
Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.
“I don’t know how to do this, Wylder,” I say much calmer this time.
He meets my gaze and holds up his hands. “If this were me, I’d picture roots extending from my body down into the soil, anchoring me. I’d imagine the fire as an extension of myself, not separate, not scary, just energy that needs direction. And then, when I made that connection, I’d simply dial it down until the flames extinguished.”
Okay, that helps.
I close my eyes and do as he suggested. I picture the flames as part of my spirit affinity that broke into the wild. It’s not out of control. It’s just untethered and needs direction. The biggest problem is that I’ve barely gotten to know my affinity.
But focusing on that isn’t helpful.
I draw another deep breath and reach toward the raging blue flames. Whether or not they were intentional, they are a part of me made manifest.
My signature energy. My magical affinity. My creation.
I take Wylder’s advice and look at the flames as an extension of myself and not something to be terrified of. That helps a lot. I feel my energy, and I rein it in.
Bit by bit, I call the spirit fire back to me, and when I open my eyes, the flames have dimmed to a soft blue glow. I exhale slowly, and the fire snuffs out completely, leaving behind an area of charred, smoking trunks.
“Yikes. Can you fix this? I’m totally going to get kicked out of here if I’ve destroyed a precious ancient grove.”
He takes in the damage and nods. “I’ve got it.”
I sink onto the ground and work on steadying my heart rate as he repairs the damage. When he’s finished, there is no trace of the assault I unleashed on the wilds.
“Okay, new rule,” I say, pulling myself together and climbing to my feet. “No hecklers allowed during training.”
Wylder’s smile is strained but genuine. He gestures to a wooden bench near the affected area. “Come on. Let’s take a moment to regroup.”
Wylder and I sit in silence for a long moment, the smell of smoke and pine sap heavy in the air. Despite them being hateful wenches, I’m conflicted about hurting Amber and her friend. I will never back down from protecting myself, but the fact that I enjoyed their suffering as much as I did is alarming.
It’s also not like me.
He flicks a serious gaze at me, studying me from beneath slashing brows. “Poppy, about what happened. That was...”
“A clusterfuck disaster, I know.”
He runs a hand through his dark hair. “On the one hand, yes. Attacking another witch is bad. Attacking a witch within your own coven is a hugely serious offense.”
I scoff. “Would it be childish to say that she hexed me first? Because she did. We both know she did.”
He dips his chin. “You can’t prove it, but shecanprove you lost control and directed your magic as an attack on her.”
I roll my eyes. “Lost control, yes. Directed an attack at her? No, that was karma biting her in the ass. I didn’t plan that in any way.”
“Maybe not consciously, but magic is fueled by intent.”
